You Betcha Poem by L. K. Thayer

I can’t get the bitter taste
of you out of my mind.
I gave you my lining,
I gave you my inseam,
I gave you my crème de la crème
but you’re wasting my
electricity
so I’m turning you off.
like a panther crouched
on the limb of a tree
I wait for a twig to snap
to see if there’s an echo or
something to bounce off of
but not a murmur or a morsel
to feed my vacant heart.
you sit back in your
easy chair
while the rest of the world rots
and sinks into potholes
on bumpy roads to
nowheresville
while you sip on your cognac
scratching your balls
and wonder how much
to bet
on horse number three.